


Choke

by Sycophantism



Category: Clockwork (Webcomic)
Genre: (Neither is Christian), Accidental Boner, Erogenous Zones, I am not a doctor, Inaccurate depiction of medical emergencies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 08:18:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4953100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sycophantism/pseuds/Sycophantism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where is a Gaz to go when he can't go to the Catacombs?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choke

**Author's Note:**

> Holy shit there's actually a Clockwork category on AO3 now. I can finally post my fics here. 
> 
> Originally wrote this in 2013. Still like it /w\

Legs crumpling, he scrabbled at the brick behind him, barely managing to find purchase before he slumped back against the wall. Using it to support his weight, he hung his head and coughed hoarsely, not even remotely surprised when blood splattered the cobblestone at his feet. If anything, he regarded it with a resigned familiarity; more like seeing an old, unwelcome friend than his own life staining the ground.

Footsteps clicked towards him and he let himself slide down the wall, sitting heavily on the wet stone. The brim of his hat hid his assailant from view, but it was futile to try and avoid looking at them; not that he would want to. Tilting his head back, the Ringleader grinned lazily up at the thug, squinting to try and read his expression. It may not have seemed like a favorable position for him, but he'd walked into it willingly; cause and effect at its finest.

Fire tore through his ribs and he barely caught himself from smashing his face into the cobblestone when he rolled. The throb of pain persisted and he sucked in a breath through his teeth, grasping at his side. It would be funny to see Christian's face when he found a boot print on the Ringleader's skin. 

"Is that all for tonight?" The aristocrat sounded bored. Something unpleasant stirred in Gaz's gut as he pushed himself slowly into a crouch, doing his best not to favour his left side. A moment later, he rose, turning with flourish to face the arrogant young man from across the alley.

"Not at all, little pink." Hazel eyes narrowed, and a dismissive flick of the fingers made the Ringleader tense, grin rigid on his face. A leg swept his own out form under him and he hit the ground hard, the breath flooding from his lungs. Dropping his head back against the ground, the Ringleader let out a breathless, silent laugh, wincing when it made his side ache. 

The stars vanished from view, replaced by the aristocrat's face. "Ah, move, will you? The stars are divine tonight." Scrunching up his face, the blonde stood up straight. Curious, Gaz lifted the brim of his hat to see what he was up to. It didn't take long to realize; a well-polished shoe came down on his throat, the toe digging up under his chin. Anger burned in the aristocrat's bright eyes and he pushed down, calling the bluff in the Ringleader's smirk. A moment later he jabbed his foot down again, eyes flashing with satisfaction when something gave out. Even Gaz's expression fell a bit, feeling something crackle.

When the man moved away, the Ringleader rolled over and gasped in a sharp breath. It rattled in his throat and he grimaced, lifting a hand to rub the bruising skin. It felt awkward under his fingers and he frowned, trailing one from the top to the bottom of his windpipe. Swallowing sent a spear of pain down his throat and he nearly choked the saliva back up. 

"Worthless scofflaw," the aristocrat muttered. Cocking his head, Gaz watched out of the corner of his eye as the young man fixed his cravat. A shadow fell over him and he twitched, bracing himself for some other assault. "Enough." Ah. So they were done for tonight.

Seemingly unsatisfied, the thug knocked Gaz's hat off his head, making sure it dropped into a shallow puddle. When no other retaliation came, the Ringleader plucked it out and swung it back onto his head, rocking back onto his heels. A swift kick to his chest knocked him back against the wall and he coughed, somehow managing not to yelp when it sent a stab of pain through his throat.

"We're done here." Except they weren't; he knew how this worked. The next thirty seconds were filled with the young man prattling about _next time_ and _you better this_ and _if it happens again_ and blah, blah, blah. So, so predictable.

Then they were gone. For several minute he sat there, staring at the wall across from him as water dripped from the brim of his hat. With a sigh-- one that made him wince-- he pulled his hat off and dusted it off. Returning it to its perch atop his head, he braced himself on the wall and pushed himself to his feet. Even only halfway through the session, he'd known where he would go afterwards if he could still walk. Otherwise, he knew where he would've wound up when a certain someone had finally found him. Because he knew Christian would have been looking.

Ra-tatat-tat. It felt odd to knock rather than simply appear on the couch, or to call out for his darling Scientist to let him in. His ribs ached too much for climbing, though, and-- well, it seemed that his voice had abandoned him. When he'd tried to summon the mansion's occupant, he'd nearly made himself sick right there on the doorstep from how much it suddenly hurt.

" _Gaz_." Christian didn't disappoint; his reaction was just as fulfilling as usual. There was some sort of surprise in that Gaz had knocked, though, and the Ringleader wasn't ignorant to it. That alone might get him an earfull of scolding. 

The scientist ushered him in without another word, and for once he let himself be herded into the cavernous sitting area without protest. Mostly because, despite himself, the few times he'd tried to speak had been sufficient enough to condition him to avoid it. And it would be a shame to dirty Scientist's ornate carpet. Was it ornate? He snuck a glance down. Nope; not ornate. Just comfy. Nevermind. 

Somehow, Christian went about gathering his kit and lighting the fireplace before realizing what was missing. Standing straight and turning halfway, he stared at the Ringleader. Cocking his head, Gaz looked back at him, a tiny, inquisitive smile on his lips. He knew exactly what had the scientist surprised.

"... Gaz?" Lifting a hand, the Ringleader twiddled his fingers. "Gaz." Kicking his feet up on the hassock that Christian had pulled over, Gaz reclined against the couch, folding his arms behind his head. " _Gaz_." Heaving a silent sigh, he spun his finger in a circle, giving Christian a 'must you really?' expression. Even without speaking, the Ringleader had quite the way to send a message.

Crossing the room, Christian pushed the Ringleader's feet off his perch and sat down. "What is it?" It seemed like he would play coy for a while longer, and the scientist's expression darkened. Rolling his eyes, Gaz held out his hands in a placating manner before gesturing apathetically towards his neck. "You can't speak?" The Ringleader couldn't ward off a deadpan expression. "Right, of course." 

Moving the hassock closer, the scientist drew a candle over and reached out, cupping Gaz's chin gently and tilting his head up. At some point, leaning his head back sent a bolt of pain down his throat and he went rigid, fingers digging into the couch. His other hand shot out and grabbed the scientist's wrist, warning him against pushing any further. Eyes flicking up to the Ringleader's face, Christian loosened his grip and lowered his gaze again.

The skin around his neck looked ugly and discoloured; a bruise was rising quickly. Just from looking, it seemed swollen, and a light touch assured him that it definitely was. 

Gaz stared stiffly at the ceiling, pointedly avoiding looking at the scientist. There was the clinical way that Christian went about nudging the wound and feeling along it that reminded him of every other time he'd been treated on this couch. 

Even when the touching stopped, he didn't move until Christian leaned away and sat back against the hassock. Lowering his chin after a moment, the Ringleader smothered the flame of anger at having shown his throat and smirked absently. There was a line between submissive and-- well, Christian. There weren't many other exceptions.

The look on the scientist's face nearly chased the grin off his face. Resigned, displeased, but not about the state of Gaz's person. It was an I-have-bad-news face and Gaz didn't like it one bit. "The cartilage is damaged." 

Yes-- that was the kind of bad news he hadn't wanted to hear.

Stubbornly, he started to deny it; he'd been stomped on plenty of times before, taken plenty of beatings, and his neck hadn't always been spared. To think some brat new-age aristorcat could have broken his cartilage. The agony tore through him when he tried to speak and his chest heaved, making him double over. "Gaz!" The scientist's hand was on his shoulder, trying to steady him as the pain of gagging only worsened it, making his stomach lurch. 

Anxiety twisted through Christian's chest as the Ringleader's shoulders shook, his back arching as he tried to break the vicious circle. Finally, just clapping a hand over his own mouth managed to stifle the coughing. When the spasms faded, the pain went with it, and he slowly let his hand slide away. With difficulty, he managed to pant slowly, wheezing slightly, trying his best not to aggravate the wound.

Sitting up slowly, the Ringleader slitted his eyes across the room, avoiding Christian's fretful stare. His defiant way of conceding. "You won't be able to talk for a few days at least," Christian mumbled, his hand still on the other's shoulder. "Eating will be difficult. Soft foods for you until the swelling goes down, at least." The Ringleader's shoulders slouched slightly, and Christian knew why; he wasn't in a position to be picky about his food. Anything that didn't go to the Catacombs was all he had. 

Loosening his grip, letting his hand slide down Gaz's arm, the scientist sighed, burying his face in his free hand. "Just stay here." The sardonic look Gaz shot him made him scrunch up his nose. "They can survive without you for a couple days, Gaz." The expression turned practically caustic. "You won't do them any good like this!" Even when Gaz couldn't speak, the arguments with him seemed hopeless.

The silence was welcome, though. Dropping the topic (for now), Christian went about helping the other strip off his clothes. Sitting when the Ringleader's wounds were bare, he began dressing them, salves and disinfectant and bandages spreading across the other's body. It never got easier to bear, but the process itself had become familiar-- almost second nature. That alone wearied him, made him miserable to think about how many times he must have done it for it to become so mundane. 

When finally Gaz waved him off and flopped back against the couch, Christian sighed and ran a hand down his face. "The damage in your throat might be more than I can treat," he said finally, propping a hand on the hassock behind him and leaning back. Why would he say that? It was true, but there wasn't any other alternative. Bring him to a doctor? 

Lifting his head, he found Gaz staring at him. Of course the Ringleader knew what he was thinking, and they both knew where the line of thought would lead; a resolute (if silent) _hell no_ from Gaz. 

"You're hopeless." It didn't even warrant a grin today.

[...]

Somehow he had gotten Gaz across the house and into his bed, adamant that he wouldn't be spending the night on the couch. He'd rattled off reasons all the way to his room, and besides glaring daggers at him and throwing his arms into the air, the Ringleader couldn't really retort. 

How many pillows did a single bed need? No, not a single; this was some ludicrously sized bed. King-sized bed for the King of Rats. Gaz glowered, arms crossed tightly, as he leaned back against the mountain of pillows Christian had stacked behind him and propped him up against.

Bumping the door open with his shoulder and stepping in, the scientist kept his eyes on the tray in his hands, making sure nothing spilled as he moved across the room. Managing to set it safely on the bedside table, he picked up the mug of soup he had made and handed it to the Ringleader, who stared irritably at it. When Christian pushed it insistently into his hands, he huffed silently and took it, as if doing so were somehow a great imposition on him. 

"Drink it." Sounding exasperated, Christian plucked a straw from the tray and dropped it into the soup. "Then rest."

It was so odd to hear only his own voice. After only a few attempts to find his voice, Gaz's throat had developed a reflex of closing up whenever he went to speak. It was a bit of a relief, because it was the only thing reminding him how much it hurt to talk-- and even then, it wasn't really talking.

Slumping slowly in his nest, the Ringleader lifted the mug and took the straw between his lips, beginning to drink. Immediately, he could tell from the temperature that the scientist had let it sit and cool for a while. The things, even the little things that Christian did for him still frustrated him sometimes; how could one person be so considerate as to think of something as insignificant as to let the soup cool before giving it to him? 

... But it didn't really _surprise_ him anymore. As confounding as the 'why' was, the 'who' wasn't any sort of question anymore. It was Christian. Christian was just... like that.

Somewhere along the line, staring through half-opened eyes into the soup as he drank slowly from it, Gaz's expression had softened. He ached, he was tired, and even he wasn't invincible. Christian stared at the other's face, though, not used to seeing it without some sort of defense up; it almost looked vulnerable. Not even because he looked weak, but more that he seemed... relaxed. On some level, Gaz was always on guard. 

Yet the way his eyes seemed focused on nothing, staring off into space-- his face lacking a certain carefree grin, a mysterious gleam, a prepared expectancy...

That gaze flicked up and Christian found his eyes locked with the Ringleader's. It startled him, mostly because Gaz hadn't moved, but everything had changed; once again he was at the forefront of his mind, no longer lost in thought. On guard.

Normally, he might have said something witty. Without his words, though, he had only an intent stare that lacked the whimsical tone of his voice. Where words might have diffused whatever unease Christian had felt, the silence instead brought an atmosphere that weighed suddenly on his mind. 

"E--" The word stuck in his throat and he suddenly felt like an insect under a microscope. "Excuse me." About to be pinned by a needle.

When he closed the door, Christian slapped a hand over his mouth and leaned back against it, eyes wide and staring at the ground. No matter how vulnerable Gaz was, he would always be formidable. Something about seeing him so relaxed had made him feel content-- made him feel like he was reaching the Ringleader in some way no one else had before. Had the other ever relaxed like that around anyone else?

But he knew he wasn't any different. It still shook him whenever he remembered how deadly Gaz was. Shook him when he realized how easily he could forget it.

[...]

For several moments, Gaz stared at the door Christian had left by. Letting the straw slip from his lips, he lifted his head, looking towards the window. 

Letting his guard down like that...

... What was he thinking? 

[...]

When Christian's heart had settled down, he went to the kitchen and made himself a snack. It calmed him significantly, made him rationalize that Gaz had no reason to be mad at him. Treating his wounds was practically routine by this point, even if anything around the neck was typically off limits. Still, this time had been an extreme case; there was no getting around it, and Gaz had known that when he came to the aristocrat's house. Hadn't even protested when Christian had examined the damage. 

Lowering the sandwich from his mouth, Christian felt a sigh slip past his lips. He knew where the look had come from. The Ringleader had let his guard down, something he'd never done in front of Christian before-- certainly _never_ before, period. Even if it had just been a few moments, a couple of seconds where he'd felt comfortable, that some part of him had felt safe enough to... relax-- to let the wall down. 

And he hadn't meant to. Hadn't realized he'd done it until he'd felt the scientist's stare, and realized he'd made a mistake. The look he'd sent Christian had done exactly what it had been meant to; reminded him of who he was staring at. That no matter what was between them, Gaz was first, foremost, and always The Ringleader. The King of Rats.

_Ah, methinks you brood too much, my dear Scientist._ Everything was still the same as it had been before, it wasn't like Christian had delusions about their relationship. Gaz had his priorities. And his dark whimseys.

But it wasn't the same. 

Gaz had let his guard down. They were changing, and it wasn't Christian's fault.

"Why did I make this sandwich?" Lettuce, tomato-- just how Gaz liked it. His expression softened as he stared down at it. Was it really just as simple as that? That their relationship sat backseat to Gaz's responsibilities? Sometimes it seemed that simple, but other times-- 

_Scientist._

Other times...

_Christian._

Running a hand through his hair, he set the sandwich aside and pushed away from the counter. 

[...]

When the door opened, Gaz didn't sit up. Laid out facing the opposite side of the room, soup set aside, anyone could've assumed he was asleep. Christian didn't move for a long time, though, and eventually the Ringleader gave up the facade, rolling onto his back and looking to the doorway.

"Does anything hurt?" Quiet voice, gentle tone. Like the last time he'd spoken, his lungs hadn't been gripped by icy talons.

Whatever he might have expected, it probably shouldn't have been anything less than this. Even if he was predictable, Christian still surprised the Ringleader at times-- surprised him with just how out of his reach the scientist's limits could be.

His ribs throbbed, his throat ached every time he swallowed, and there was a headache scratching behind his eyeballs. Shaking his head on cue, Gaz offered a crooked smirk, sinking back against the bed again. 

"Liar," he muttered, crossing the room and sitting on the edge of his bed. The Ringleader shrugged, not bothering to deny it, and let his expression lighten a bit. "Still hurts to talk?" Gaz shook his head, shifting his gaze across the room and leaving out the part that he wasn't about to try. His throat still closed up whenever he made to speak. "It'll take a few days, at least," Christian said again, and the Ringleader cut his eyes towards the ceiling. Heaving out a sigh, the scientist tilted his head back, staring up at the dimmed light fixture. Whether or not Gaz stayed was totally up to the hobo; there wasn't much else Christian could say, and he knew better than to try too hard to convince the Ringleader into doing something he didn't want to do. 

"Don't jump out the window." Standing, the scientist rubbed the back of his neck, turning to face his houseguest. The Ringleader arched his brows imploringly-- _who, me?_ \-- and Christian scowled at him. "Please?" Gaz turned away, looking out towards the windows again. It made his skin crawl when the scientist could sound so sincere-- when he actually said please. Such an unfamiliar word.

His only reply was a shrug of his shoulders, and Christian sighed, running a hand down his face. "I'll make you a sandwich for breakfast." He knew that was his best bet and getting the Ringleader to stay. The other didn't offer any further response, and the scientist finally left, closing the door lightly behind him. 

[...]

"Scientiiiiiist." Christian groaned under his breath, rolling over to face the back of the couch. He could practically hear the pout on Gaz's face. "I'm hungryyy." Dragging the blanket up over his head, he tried to block out the Ringleader's voice, wondering what ungodly hour of the morning it was.

_The Ringleader's voice_. Sitting bolt upright, he turned, staring at the empty living room. For several moments he sat there, the blanket pooling in his lap as Gaz's voice, faint in his mind, laughed softly.

Squeezing his eyes shut and digging the heels of his palms into them, he sighed, rubbing away the sleep. He was so used to Gaz waking him up... Just having the Ringleader in his house was like setting some sort of alarm clock in his mind.

Flinging the blanket off his legs, Christian stood up, grabbing his pants from the arm of the couch and fishing his underwear out of the leg. Tugging the briefs on, he shambled into the kitchen, scratching his hair and yawning. Sandwich. He'd said he'd make a sandwich for Gaz if he--

If he stayed the night. Right. Turning, he left the kitchen behind and made his way to his room to make sure there was still a Ringleader in his bed. 

For several moments he stared at the lump under his covers. Not trusting it, Christian moved to his bed and pulled the sheets back a bit. When a tangle of hair showed through, he let go, stepping back. What had he thought, that Gaz would stuff pillows underneath to make it look like he was still sleeping?

...

Yes. That's exactly what he'd thought.

Leaving the door ajar, he returned to the kitchen and stared at the sandwich he'd left there overnight. Rifling his fingers through his hair, he nudged it into the trash and pulled open a cupboard, staring at the bread. Would it be alright for Gaz to eat a sandwich with his throat in its state? Still, he'd said he would.

Sighing under his breath, he pulled the loaf down and slid a knife out of the block.

[...]

He didn't puke, but Christian was worried for a while. Even after that episode, when he tried to take the sandwich away, Gaz shot him a glare. "You're not eating this!" he exclaimed, stealing it and putting it on the tray. Shaking his head, he stood, taking up the tray. "I'll get you some soup." The Ringleader made a face at him before crossing his arms and positively pouting.

It was three days before he could manage solid foods. Soup, yogurt, ice cream-- Gaz wasn't too pleased with it all. But he stayed because of the promise of a sandwich as soon as his throat healed enough. Caelan came to the door one day looking exceedingly uncomfortable, just to see if the scientist knew where the Ringleader was. He'd almost said _here recovering_ , or something along those lines, but managed to catch himself. They didn't need to know how beaten up Gaz was. So he'd lied, said he didn't know where he was, but he was sure that he'd show up soon. When Caelan hadn't looked convinced, Christian had said he'd go look for him (and all of the Catacombs by this point knew he was the best at finding the Ringleader) and given him an apple before sending him on his way.

"They need me, you see?" The Ringleader's voice was hoarse and quiet, but he was speaking agian. 

"Caelan is making sure everyone eats," Christian responded, pushing a plate of grapes onto Gaz's lap. "Eat these."

"Where's the sandwich you promise me, Scientist?" Still grumpy about that.

"You'll get it tomorrow."

A dramatic sigh spilled out of Gaz's mouth. "You're absolutely blackmailing me. How could you commit such a cruelty-- and to someone so impaired as myself?" Rolling his eyes, Christian stood, making sure the Ringleader's water was topped off. 

"You're barely managing fruit by now, Gaz. I don't trust you with bread yet."

"But tomorrow?" There was a mischievous flicker of hope in the Ringleader's eyes.

"... Probably."

"Oh, _woe_." Rolling his eyes, the Ringleader popped a grape into his mouth, chewing resentfully. 

[...]

"Such a fickle creature you are," Gaz muttered, glowering at the scientist as he set a cold plate at his bedside table. "And I see yet another lack of sandwich in my menu."

"Dinner." 

"And then it will be tomorrow, and tomorrow it will be lunch, and oh, how long do you expect me to hold out hope for you, my dear?" Grumpily he stole the plate away, slouching against the pillows and biting into a cucumber. "I am losing faith in you, Scientist."

"No, you're not." Neither of them believed it for a second. Still, the Ringleader had to at least say it. He had a reputation to uphold. 

"Mm. I suppose not." Eyeing the crackers, Gaz made a point of finishing those off first, just to prove he could eat the harder solids. What was bread compared to a pile of crackers? When the last one crunched between his teeth, he leveled a glare on Christian.

" _Dinner_ ," he repeated with exasperation. Heaving out a sigh-- and covering up a wince when it stung his throat-- Gaz returned to his vegetables, nibbling on a carrot. 

And for dinner; a sandwich.

"Finally." Christian ignored the comment, handing the sandwich over to the Ringleader and ignoring the greedy way he snatched it up as though he thought the scientist would pull it away at the last moment. 

"No 'thanks'?"

"For holding out on me five long days?" Gaz didn't even finish his sentence, taking a bite out of the sandwich and melting against his pillows. " _Mmf_." 

"You're welcome." 

[...]

"Just let me look!" Christian exclaimed, throwing himself back against his chair.

"You've looked _quite enough_ for one day," Gaz growled back, looking nothing like his usual nonplussed self. Stubbornly, Christian stood again and knelt on the side of the bed, planting one hand firmly on the Ringleader's other side to stop him from trying to roll away. "Scientist!" Gaz dropped down against the bed, glowering up at the other.

"Now that the swelling is down, I can see if there's any other damage," Christian insisted, sitting up a bit but not lifting the bar of his arm. "If there's anything permanent--"

"This is completely unnecessary--"

"-- you may never fully recover your voice." The Ringleader's glare didn't waver, but his lips pinched together. They glowered at one another for several moments, before Christian lifted his arm and held up his hand. "Are you going to sit up?"

Folding his arms, the Ringleader didn't move until the scientist sat back and gave him an exasperated huff. Irritably, he pushed himself up, sitting back against the pillows. "Head back." Cutting his eyes across the room, Gaz jerked his chin up, arms still tightly crossed over his chest, fingers digging into his sleeves.

Relaxing a bit, Christian reached out and held the Ringleader's jaw with both hands, thumbs running down the dark bruise. Once his focus zeroed in on the wound, the rest of the world fell away around him and he began his inspection; tilting Gaz's head to and fro, slowly, to make sure it wasn't inhibited or painful; pressing along the discoloured skin feeling for any further displacement underneath; making his way down to the Ringleader's collar to see if the damage extended this far down.

_Are you near finished?_ With the Ringleader's short patience, it was a wonder he hadn't asked by now. Christian could figure why, though; stealing a glance up, he saw how brightly Gaz's face burned, how narrow the glare was he had locked on the ceiling, how stiff his shoulders and how tight his fists were. 

Absently, Christian lowered his gaze and ran a finger from the tip of Gaz's chin, along his windpipe and down to the dip in his collar. Even with his body rigid, the Ringleader gave a violent shiver. Jerking his head back, Gaz twisted and shouldered the scientist's hand away, ducking his chin and cutting a glare in his direction. " _Quite satisfied_?" he hissed, the grin twisting his face into a pained rictus. Without thinking, Christian nodded, and Gaz's eyes narrowed. "Then please. Close the door on your way out."

"Gaz--"

" _Thank_ you, Scientist." Somehow, he wasn't too upset about being dismissed from his own bedroom.

At the last second he glanced back, fingers spasming on the doorknob when he saw the Ringleader shifting under the covers, rolling about. It wasn't that Gaz was impatient; he just didn't care if Christian saw. When he sat up, his hair was mussed about and his eyes were only half open, his mind focused on something he wasn't looking at. Out of the corner of his eyes he glanced at the scientist, startling him and making him tug the door shut. 

Leaning forward, Gaz huffed out a quiet breath, running fingers through his tangled hair as his hand migrated south.

Letting the door support his weight, Christian stared blankly at the ceiling, waiting for the blood in his face to drain away. The longer he stayed, though, the darker he burned, and finally he pushed away from the room. Rifling his hands through his hair, not caring when it pushed his lightning bolts all out of place, he sighed loudly, running both hands down his face. The flush was warm against his skin and he bit his lip, trying to ignore what he'd had no problem ignoring when he was checking on the Ringleader's wound. Somehow, though, it was harder now.

[...]

For some reason, he wasn't surprised when he next checked his room and found it empty. Sighing to himself, Christian stepped in and went about gathering his sheets from the bed. It took him a moment to realize that they were clean-- Gaz hadn't made a mess during all those days of eating in bed-- and he considered not doing the laundry. He didn't really need to, did he? 

Remembering the cause of their little 'domestic dispute', though, made him flush and heave the blankets off the bed. Hefting them all into his arms, he dropped his face into them and sighed loudly.

[...]

A wind tugged at his hat, made him raise a hand and grasp the brim to stop it from flying off. From a block away he watched as Christian stripped the bed and left his room, presumably to clean them. After all, he'd had a hobo sleeping in them for going on a week. Although it had been more than sleeping, hadn't it?

Drumming his fingers along the brim of his hat, Gaz glanced over his shoulder and looked out towards Arcadia. Despite the days he'd spent bedridden (by Scientist's order), he hadn't forgotten about the aristocrat that had landed him there. "Little pink." Hardly old enough or experienced enough to be considered a full _rat_ quite yet. 

Laying back against the roof of the house, the Ringleader folded his arms behind his head and stared up at the clouds as they inched their way across the sky. Now whatever was he going to do with that little brat?


End file.
